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Printed from https://www.writing.com/main/view_item/item_id/1742951-I-stand-in-the-middle
by hak
Rated: 13+ · Review · Arts · #1742951
Time stands still. Im alone, surrounded by a invisible community.
Walking through a alley ın Lefkosha,  the sound of childrens voices dancing in play, warm me, while the cars engines chıll me. Arrıving at a house I imagine children growing, brothers fighting, of love freeing and oppressing.  A garden full of laughter, now stares back empty except for a territorial cat that claws at the trees roots.



I sit and light my cigarette, reminising about the moments lived here by a unknown family while the cat ignores me  . The USAID Board writes,” that the house had fallen into serious disrepear from once being the heart of a community. She lay deformed and decayed,  and through great struggle, has become beutiful enough, to open her arms to her community again”.  I walk into her exhibition, wıthout feelıng open arms. No, I walk in alone.



My skin raises, to meet the cold. Circling the room the 18 paintings, blend into one. The floor meets my feet stongly as the art tears at my being. I feel fragile, vulnerable. A human shot by a shrill of loss.





My eyes resonate, through a painting on a black canvas, it calls at me” Your hold on humanity is tender”. Closıng my eyes and then reopening them, Asık appears staring. I feel his wish for the wistful. A passionate artists sentiments shake my hands.



Lookıng closer at hıs reflections, circular notions of time flow into a chaos. The charactors face tıme and howl. We allI stand in chains while South we are free.



Are they the architects of our future or are we?



A canvas answers Capitalism. Money buyıng lives a existence that leaves us only shadows of ourselves, our arms and legs beıng moved by pupeteers. Our feet move in ayakabas. We need to wear our own potin. 



How can we buıld somethıng, when they own our ground, while others own our air. Let us own ourselves, I whisper.



What we have built or what we have broken?



Livers and Hearts, appear in the art, when they collapse, we die. Yes, but we are more than our organs, we are a spirit. One that breathes weaker. Death is nothing but to remember  life . He asks us to look back to breath deeper.





Time stands still. Im alone, surrounded by a invisible community. The past and the future meet, pressıng their lips violently.

                   



I stand in the middle. My past hazy, my future clear. Im weary and fearful of my own lifes footprints.

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Printed from https://www.writing.com/main/view_item/item_id/1742951-I-stand-in-the-middle